Love and Possession
by compartmentalize
Summary: Reid gives Anderson a sense of power in the BAU. But will secret sex be enough for the low-ranking, suppressed agent or the young, sensitive profiler? And what happens when a protective and suddenly jealous unit chief catches them "in the act"? SLASH!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"… and Anderson, make two copies of the Davidson case report- one for Archives and one for Strauss. It should be on her desk in an hour."

"Yes, sir."

And with a last polite little nod Anderson took the file from the Unit Chief and left the office at a brisk pace. He headed straight for the carpeted stairs, praying Agent Jareau wouldn't see him through her office window and come running, grunt work in hand. It was always another phone call, another coffee run, another scheduling-

"Anderson! I'm so glad I caught you while you're not busy. Look, I know this isn't really typical, but I'm going to need you to pick up Henry from preschool and bring him to a friend's house."

"I thought your husband wasn't visiting his family in Louisiana until next week."

JJ stared confusedly at Anderson's frowning features. While it wasn't out of the norm for Anderson to know the goings on of the team's personal lives for the purposes of his job, he didn't usually question orders.

"He got called away early by the sheriff at NOPD for some information on an old case he worked… and the sitter canceled right after we got a case."

Anderson's frown deepened.

"A case?"

"Yeah, in Maine. Is there a problem?"

"No, ma'am, not at all... School's out at 3 o'clock, right?"

"Yeah. I'll text you the addresses."

Anderson gripped Hotch's file tightly as he neutralized his features and, true to form, gave a curt nod that signified he understood. Turning away from the still perplexed agent, he headed down the stairs and straight across the bullpen to his disaster zone of a desk. Sitting hunched over a pad of yellow sticky notes, he wrote quickly on the topmost square and ripped it off. He grabbed his keys from their place atop a massive pile of reports and scurried off towards the copy room, stopping only to press the note to the computer screen of a certain young genius.

As Anderson entered the copy room at the end of the hall, his lips turned up in a smile for the first time all day.

Reid's head snapped up at the sound of quick footsteps approaching his desk. He immediately regretted his actions due to a crick in his neck that he hadn't been aware of. Today had been a day supposedly dedicated to paperwork, but from what Reid had observed, he was the only one working. Morgan and Prentiss had been chatting it up over their coffee thermoses for the past hour. More to the point, Reid suspected that most of files he'd been bent over since 9 AM had been slipped into his pile by either one of his less-than-productive fellow profilers. There was just no WAY that they had finished their reports before him without foul play.

Reid rubbed his neck as he took in the sight of a yellow sticky note stuck haphazardly to his computer screen. Wheeling his chair over, he squinted at the nearly illegible scribble:

**Get your tight ass to the copy room- I need it for a before and after xerox. It'll be unrecognizable by the time I'm finished with you.**

**PDA**

Reid's brows furrowed as he took in the initials, than relaxed in recognition. Trying to look inconspicuous, he grabbed the note and stuffed it into a pocket and hurried out of the bullpen.

"Five whole minutes, Spencer. And for a work place booty call, too…"

"It took me at least one of those five to figure out that "PDA" was "Patrick Dylan Anderson" and not something else," came the snippy reply from the doorway. Anderson knew the boy well enough to pick up on the sultry undertone. The snap of the door shutting sent Anderson's pulse skyrocketing… but he didn't hear the anticipated click of the lock.

"Feeling exhibitionistic today, babe?"

The younger man's face flushed a delicate pink, and Anderson smiled. Only Spencer could blush like a virgin while answering a booty call- at the office, no less.

"I just thought… no, its silly and reckless, I can lock it-"

"No… don't. I like the way you think."

In a few hastened strides, Anderson had crossed the small room and enveloped Reid's lips with his own. A moan escaped the younger man's mouth and Anderson capitalized on his opportunity to thrust his tongue inside.

The two men dueled for dominance of the deep kiss as they fumbled blindly with each other's shirt buttons. Anderson finished first, and after pushing Reid's shirt off his shoulders he whipped the undershirt over his lover's head, momentarily interrupting their kiss.

Anderson waited for Reid to catch up to him, undressing-wise: his young lover harbored a slight insecurity when it came to being more naked than him before or during sex. He, himself, had a dominant side to him that never came out at work- unless he and Spencer were having a quickie in the copy room. His protective, possessive, alpha male presence was reserved mainly for his time with Spencer. It remained dormant at work, as it wouldn't bode well for him to put out an air of authority while at the office. He was as low ranking as agents come, the Bitch of the BAU… of course, that made his exploits with Spencer all the hotter.

Reid and Anderson's bare chests collided, one milky and flat, the other more tanned and muscular. Anderson broke the kiss to nip down the long expanse of his lover's neck as they undid each other's belts.

"W-what's the rush this mor…morning?" Reid panted, struggling to string coherent words together in his passion.

"You've got a case," Anderson murmured against his lover's neck, "Don't worry… Agent Jareau hasn't taken it up with your boss yet," Reid clung to Anderson for balance as he stepped out of his chords, "You won't have to be in the round-table room for at least a half an hour…" Anderson hissed in his ear before nibbling gently at his earlobe.

Finding both of them finally naked, Anderson ran his hands down his lover's body, savoring the soft skin and taking in the sharp angles from all the pronounced bones of Reid's skinny frame. Reaching his firm ass, he squeezed and massaged the tight muscles before hoisting the younger man up and carrying him to the copy machine. Reid, who was always pleasantly surprised at these subtle displays of his lover's strength, quickly wrapped his long legs around the man's waist in time to be set down on the smooth surface of the copier.

The two men groaned as their bare erections were pressed together due to the dominating weight that Anderson had placed upon Reid. Supporting both of them with one hand, Anderson reached the other between them…

"Anderson, I've just been info- What the FUCK do you think you're doing?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**PRESENT**

Reid was having a major case of déjà vu: There he was _again_, rocking nervously on his toes in a Bureau-paid-for hotel room, with every intention of working the case… and finding, to his endless frustration, that any attempt to refocus was thwarted by thoughts of a team member lodged next door. He found himself wondering if confrontation was indeed the way to go _this _time around.

Of course, Reid thought dryly, when it was Elle Greenaway with whom he had had a bone to pick with, it had been more of an intervention than an all-out confrontation.

Elle hadn't been right for weeks before he'd invited himself into her room, where he'd proceeded to coax her into admitting that she was suffering from PTSD. Now, instead of concern for a teammate, it was an all-consuming rage that Reid felt.

Also, he noted, as he started to pace restlessly around the room, that he'd been fully dressed in work attire when he'd gone to Elle all those years ago. Now he was in pajamas. Not exactly the most intimidating garb for a confrontation, but Reid couldn't bring himself to care as he stormed out of his room with every intention of giving Hotch a piece of his mind.

* * *

><p><strong>FLASHBACK<strong>

"Anderson, I've just been info- What the FUCK do you think you're doing?"

Reid let out a pitiful squeak of shock and embarrassment as Hotch's deep shout cracked like thunder through the copy room. The two lovers looked up at the man in the doorway- the very tall, intimidating (and fully dressed) man with a look on his face that could kill.

Realizing that his bare back- and back_side_- were still turned to his boss, Anderson whirled around to face him. Reid's legs appeared to be paralyzed in their position, still wrapped around his boyfriend's waist… but at least the young man's private areas were mostly obscured by his lover's body. There was nothing to be done about Anderson's nakedness, however.

"Sir! Dr. Reid and I were just… the case report-"

Hotch cut him off. The blaze of fury that his eyes had been a moment earlier had suddenly turned to ice. When the Unit Chief spoke, the usual chill back in his tone.

"Reid, be in the round-table room in five minutes… fully clothed, if you will. We've got a case," As Hotch addressed his youngest team member, Reid could not meet his eye, "_You_, Anderson, are hereby suspended from your post at the BAU. As of right now, the premises of the FBI Academy are off limits until and unless I decide that you should be reinstated."

Anderson heard Reid's sharp intake of breath and felt the squeeze of the younger man's legs around his hips in reaction to the Unit Chief's words. Whether Reid was confused at the sparing of his own career or indignant at the damage to his lovers', Anderson did not know. Either way, the boy's continued discomfort unleashed the alpha-male presence that had vanished since his boss' arrival.

"On what grounds _sir_?"

"…Excuse me, _Anderson_?"

It was perfectly clear to a mortified Reid what his boss and boyfriend were doing: each man, respectively, was using the other's title as an indirect insult to his position on the BAU's hierarchy. His boyfriend was reminding him of the neanderthallic men he'd read about, who would display their genetalia as a sign of dominance.

"On what grounds am I being suspended?"

"For sexually harassing Dr. Reid."

At this, Reid flinched and made a barelyaudible whimper of protest that was nevertheless heard by the two elder men. The boy was just about to speak up in defense of his lover when the latter reached behind and placed a soothing, _possessive_ hand on his thigh.

"I've got this, baby."

Hotch narrowed his eyes at the endearment. Without his legendary discipline, he might've fired his service weapon. As it was, he knew that he wouldn't be able to take another minute in that copy room.

"Reid, get dressed. Anderson, leave the Davidson report."

Reid's eyes widened as they dropped to the copy machine on which he was sitting.

Anderson's eyes closed as his face turned to a grimace of pure anguish.

Hotch's eyes followed those of the youngest profiler's.

Together, the three men looked down to see the brown, FBI emblemized case file peeking out from where it was tucked… underneath the youth's bottom.

* * *

><p><strong>PRESENT<strong>

Photos of the crime scene as well as headshots of each of five deceased young women were strewn across the hotel bed. In the Unit Chief's hands were their respective autopsy results. The coroner's notes had remained fairly consistent with each victim: Excessive care had been taken to minimize physical injury to the women during the sexual assault that preceded death. The unsub's MO for each kill had consisted of severing the carotid artery with a sharp blade- quick, efficient, with minimal pain to the victim. Upon arrival at each crime scene, police had found the corpses lain out on their beds in classic burial position.

All signs pointed to a power-reassurance rapist whose attacks had, at some point, become lethal. The next logical step would be to look for connections with local rapes whose MOs matched (besides the whole killing bit.) He would call Garcia in the morning.

Hotch couldn't help but smile to himself. Working any case- any profile- could be made into a meditative experience, especially if he needed distraction. He just needed the right frame of mind. And he'd achieved just that: _preoccupation_.

Still in an especially self-congratulatory mood, Hotch gave himself a metaphorical pat on the back for having kept up his professionalism with Reid all day. It hadn't been that difficult. He was used to diving into work in times of emotional turmoil. He'd done so in the wake of his divorce, through Gideon's abandonment… surely he could get through this the same way. He'd deal with Anderson when the case was over.

_Knock_…_ knock. Knock knock._

The hesitance behind the first two knocks was not lost on Hotch. The knocker hadn't been sure of his desire to see the Unit Chief, but had gained confidence at the realization that he could not turn back after making their presence known. Hotch knew who it would be before he opened the door.

"Reid."

One look at the boy and Hotch knew his commitment to remaining professional through this ordeal wasn't going to hold up. There stood his youngest subordinate in an oversized nightshirt and matching pants, both of which accentuated his too-skinny frame. The determined look in Reid's eyes was at odds with his defensive posture- shoulders hunched, arms crossed- it only made him appear more vulnerable. How could Anderson have taken advantage of him so?

"I… I need to talk to you about Patrick,"

Hotch suppressed a cringe at the boy's use of his abuser's first name. It suddenly occurred to him that he should invite Reid in from the hallway. Wordlessly, he stepped back and motioned for the young man to follow. Once the door was closed, Reid took a deep breath and continued:

"What you saw this morning was a… blatant, um… misuse of Bureau property,"

The Unit Chief should have taken pity on Reid by now. Even the poor boy's ears were a deep shade of pink. But Hotch had found himself immobilized, a savage part of him wanting to hear how pathetic Reid's excuse for submitting to Anderson was.

"It was thoughtless and irresponsible… and it was also my idea."

Reid's last words stunned Hotch into speech.

"I won't have you defending that man-"

"'That man'? 'That man' is my BOYFRIEND!"

Hotch could no longer hold back his disgust for what Anderson had done to Reid- to the innocence that the Unit Chief secretly treasured in the young man. Hotch wasn't going to pull any more punches if they would make Reid see the truth.

"A power-reassurance rapist is always looking to build up his self image. He holds a low-ranking job, and it's not uncommon for the victim he selects to work with him, often at higher rank. The victim is selected for traits that the rapist finds most likely to boost his ego- humility, shyness, insecurity… I'm sure Anderson sees all that in you."

Reid's jaw had dropped at some point during Hotch's spiel, and angry tears had formed in his eyes.

"Anderson. Didn't. _Rape_ me."

"But he coerced you, didn't he?"

The young man was shaking his head in denial, one betraying tear slipping down his cheek. He wiped furiously at it with his nightshirt sleeve. Why had he come to Hotch's room? His boss was the harasser, not his boyfriend! Reid turned his back on the Unit Chief and wrenched the door open. He flinched as Hotch's hand slammed the door shut again.

"I never took you for a passive victim, Reid."

A beat of silence passed. The tension was palpable. It broke when Hotch's hand drew back and Reid fled down the hallway without a backwards glance.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The case wrapped up fairly quickly, despite Reid's fear that he may not be able to look his boss in the eye again. Oh, the tension was still there, and any contact between two had certainly never been initiated by the younger man. Their few interactions had been professional, if a bit stiff. It seemed to Reid that his teammates had chalked up any tension they saw to the fact that Reid had snapped at an officer at the Portland PD for not refilling the coffee pot. Hotch had made him _apologize_ and then sent him off to work the geographic profile, as if he were a misbehaved child in time-out. That certainly hadn't assuaged Reid's feeling that he was constantly being patronized his superior. As Reid sat in the jet, stewing in resentment, he swore that he'd have words with Hotch, even if it meant addressing the matter that he'd run away from a few nights ago.

Hotch could feel Reid's eyes flit in his direction from over the book gripped in the young man's long fingers. If the boy was actually reading, the pages would be turning at a pace of around fifty per minute. Also, the intensity in his gaze should have melted the ink off the pages by now, so surmised the Unit Chief. No, the furious glances from across the jet were all directed at him, not Professor Appel's _Nietzsche Contra Democracy_. Hotch supposed that he deserved whatever Reid would be dishing at him when they returned to Quantico. He'd been harsh, and was ready to admit that. He'd held Reid responsible for what Anderson was doing to him. How many times had he reminded himself, his agents, the victims themselves, that _it's never the victim's fault_? Reid had just been so defensive, so _forgiving_ of Anderson's abusive treatment… something inside of Hotch had snapped. Hotch was under no delusions: The conflict that had taken place in his hotel room had been left unresolved, but he knew it couldn't remain so for much longer.

The plane touched down on the FBI Academy's private runway, and the team made its way to the BAU. They were exhausted, but still managed some banter amongst themselves, all except for the Unit Chief and the youngest amongst them. Both were readying themselves, unbeknownst to the other, for Round Two of their confrontation.

Entering the bullpen, Reid made a beeline for his desk. Setting his go-bag and satchel down on the chair, he leaned against the partition that separated his desk from Morgan's and dialed.

"Hey babe," Reid's boyfriend's sleep-roughened voice was already putting him at ease. "It's late… did you just get back?"

"Yeah, I can't wait to get home and see you-"

"Why didn't you call?" Anderson's voice cut through Reid's newly-relaxed state with a sudden edge.

"Huh? I, ah… I've been busy every night this week."

"Is Agent Hotchner keeping you up, babe?"

"W-what?" Spencer gasped. Where had that come from?

Anderson chuckled.

"I wasn't talking about _that._ I meant keeping you up with work, Spencer… you have a dirty little mind… But, you know _that_'s why Boss Man has such a problem with us."

"What's why? Patrick, what are you getting at, exactly?"

"C'mon, baby… it's a classic case of sour grapes."

Reid was familiar with Aesop's fable with about the fox that couldn't reach a vine of grapes, and thus proclaimed them sour. He couldn't place the reference here, though.

"Hotch is bitter? About what, exactly?"

"Not bitter… jealous. Of Me. For having you… for what we have, together."

Now Reid was thoroughly confused. Uncomfortable, even. He twisted the phone chord around with one hand, the other still cupping the phone to his ear.

"Jealous?"

"Your naïveté never ceases to amaze me, baby... So, are you leaving or what?"

"Yeah, I just need to… file some stuff."

"Taking over my job, Spencer?" Anderson's jest was dry, with an undertone of irritation.

"Your suspension is hardly something to joke about, Patrick… How was this week for you?"

"We'll talk about it when you get back. Come soon, okay?"

Reid assured his lover that he would indeed be home soon and then hung up. He smiled at the phone. Despite his forebodings of having to console a disgruntled employee for a boyfriend, he'd liked to feeling needed and appreciated for the first time all week.

Hotch had been expecting Reid to be knocking at his office door within the first minute of the team's arrival. When he hadn't, Hotch had paced behind his desk for a bit, further prepping for what was sure to be an uncomfortable discussion on both their parts. Hopefully, Hotch could keep it from getting heated this time around.

After another minute passed, Hotch exasperatedly crossed to his office window and peered through the partially-closed blinds. The sight before him rekindled his fiery temper.

There stood Reid by his desk, in the otherwise empty bullpen. His stance was defensive- hunched back, rocking back and forth on his heels like he did when he was contemplating something unpleasant. His free hand was gripping his phone chord, twisting and pulling at it restlessly. But it was the state of the boy's delicate features that had sent Hotch into such a fury: his eyebrows were knitted tightly together, his lips pursed in a line of worry in between short bursts of frantic speech. When the Unit Chief had calmed down enough to listen, he heard proof of his suspicions:

"W-what?... Patrick, what are you getting at, exactly?..."

Hotch decided that this couldn't wait a minute longer. He crossed to his door, reaching the stairs at the end of the catwalk in time for Reid to say:

"Yeah, I just need to… file some stuff."

If Reid was lying to his "boyfriend" to delay meeting him, maybe he wasn't in as deep a denial as Hotch had been led to believe.

When Reid had hung up the phone, Hotch cleared his throat to alert the boy to his presence. His subordinate jumped nearly a foot in the air and turned in the same instance, looking shifty, clearly not aware of how much of his private conversation had been heard by his boss.

"I need you to listen to me, Reid… because what I'm going to say will be hard to hear,"

As if a spoiler alert was necessary, Reid thought derisively. For what felt like the millionth time that day, the young man braced himself for an emotional beating.

"Anderson was transferred into the BAU in a position that was subordinate to us both. Like most employees of low-ranking status in a bureaucratic hierarchy, he felt underappreciated by everyone in this unit, frustrated by the repression he's suffered at the office. He'd constantly be assigned to tasks that he felt were beneath him. Over time, that repression has manifested itself in every aspect of his life… including his sex life,"

Hotch paused in his profile to assess Reid's reaction. The boy was staring determinedly at the carpet, his features contorted in a sort of pained grimace. The Unit Chief sighed and continued.

"Reid, you provided an excellent target-"

"I am not a _target_," Reid had lost it at the sound of that himself being referred to as an object used for sport, for _practice_, on his boss' lips. He'd drawn himself up to his full height and now faced Hotch full-on, eyes flashing.

"I don't know how it's escaped your notice in our six years, nine months and twenty-eight days of working together, but I am a grown man capable of making my own decisions. And I won't let you, Aaron Hotchner, interfere with the best thing that's happened to me in those nearly seven years. You can't control me with this… paternal complex you've developed towards me. Quite frankly, it's inappropriate and unset-MMPH!"

Through the rebellious haze that Reid had slipped into, he hadn't seen his boss swooping in and claiming his lips in a kiss that caused everything to snap back into sharp focus, then go hazy again. At first it was chaste and sweet, tentative. Then, Reid sighed as a warm feeling shot his whole body, not quite numbing him before he felt slide of Hotch's tongue against his own. It was clear that Hotch was feeling _anything_ but paternal.

Reid's brain was drowning in the fog that the kiss had created, and he never wanted to breach the surface again. But a lack of air broke the two apart, and as oxygen returned to Reid's brain, so did thoughts of a waiting boyfriend that he had just spoken to.

Reid tuned away from a glazed, rumpled-looking Hotch, grabbed his go-bag and satchel, and bolted for the glass doors of the BAU. The man he'd left stood there for a good few minutes afterwards, contemplating just how much more complicated things were about to get.


	4. Chapter 4

Reid sought refuge in his car in the academy's parking lot, and just sat for a few minutes, grasping the wheel tightly and taking deep breaths. He knew that he had to calm down. The young man didn't trust himself to drive in such a panicked state. He wasn't very skillful behind a wheel at the best of times, as Morgan had pointed out on eight different occasions.

He inspected his whitened knuckles from where they were still wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. Reid loosened his grip with one hand and withdrew the other. His long fingers seemed to rise to his face of their own accord, fingertips running over the slightly swollen lips that were still parted as deep breaths filled his lungs.

Swallowing deeply, Reid moved his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He could still feel Hotch there. The taste of his Unit Chief seemed to have the same effect on the young man as strong alcohol, but without the shudder-worthy aftertaste. As Reid relived the kiss- the mind-blowing, earth-shattering kiss from his _boss_, he could feel his pulse quicken. Deep breaths couldn't help now. Reid picked a book at random from the catalogue in his head and began to recite:

"_When geometric non-linearity (second-order) effects are accounted for in the analysis and design of semi-rigid framed structures, the geometrical stiffness matrix of the structure must be created_…"

Reid smiled when he realized that he had recited a passage from the same engineering book when he had last had sex with Patrick, in an effort to delay his orgasm and maximize his boyfriend's pleasure. His smile faded. Oh god, his _boyfriend_… he had a _boyfriend_… Not for much longer, he thought bitterly. He should have listened to Patrick and his talk of "sour grapes", as ridiculous as it had sounded just minutes earlier. He should have foreseen, as his lover had, the jealousy that had triggered Patrick's suspension, his confrontation with Hotch… and the kiss. He should have stopped the kiss before it had happened. But he hadn't seen it coming. Patrick's words continued to echo through his brilliant mind, which didn't seem so brilliant anymore:

"_Your _naïveté_ never ceases to amaze me, baby…"_

Reid shook his head and muttered out loud to no one:

"Nor, I, Patrick. Nor I…"

* * *

><p>Anderson heard the telltale jingle of keys in lock. Grinning, he turned off the Flyers v. Rangers winter classic game on ESPN, stretched, and went to check on the bathwater. As he reemerged from the steamy bathroom, the clinking hadn't stopped. Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, he crossed the apartment and unlocked the door himself. It swung open to reveal his lover looking disheveled, but not in a bad way. Reid's hair was mussed, his cheeks flushed… had he been chewing his bottom lip? It was larger, more pouty than it usually was. Anderson surmised that it was too many hours on the jet that had caused his uncharacteristic unkemptness. If this is what travel looks like on the younger man, then he should travel more often… with his boyfriend.<p>

"They say coordination gets better when you relax. You should cut back on the coffee, babe," Anderson teased.

Reid's eyes finally met his, and Anderson was taken aback by the sad, almost tortured look in the boy's eyes.

"Tough case?"

"Yeah… I guess you could say that…" Reid averted his gaze once again. Anderson cocked his head, smiling sympathetically. He took his boyfriend's go-bag and satchel and tossed them unceremoniously into a corner. Slipping behind Reid, he kneaded the younger man's tight shoulders while guiding him towards the bathroom.

"I know just the thing to release all this tension," Anderson whispered sultrily in his ear.

When Reid entered the small, steam-filled room, he blinked in confusion.

"…a bath?"

Anderson chuckled. His boyfriend was really out of it tonight.

"Yes, baby, a bath. I thought it would relax you, and by the looks of it, I thought right," Anderson reached around Reid's shoulders and started undoing shirt buttons. He nuzzled the younger man's ear and breathed in the sweet scent of his soft, chestnut locks. "I also love any excuse to rub a washcloth down your body," Anderson breathed into Reid's ear, "Like I do after sex, when you're painted with cum after I bring you to orgasm."

Reid's head lolled back to rest on his lover's shoulder, and the latter wasted no time before kissing and nipping at the delicate skin of exposed throat. Through his lips, Anderson felt before he heard the whimper that was pulled from the boy. When shirt and undershirt were discarded on the tiled floor, Anderson reached for Reid's belt. Suddenly, his boyfriend's hand was on the back of his own, putting his undressing on pause.

"Patrick… you said on the phone… we could talk…" Reid's head had turned on his elder lover's shoulder to gaze pleadingly into his eyes. His tone was hesitant, not quite sure- not sure enough.

"Later, baby. Right now, I'm going to make you feel good," Anderson crooned in his boyfriend's ear.

Anderson brushed Reid's hands aside and continued to work his belt. It slithered out of the loops of the boy's chords and was dropped to the floor. As he moved on to his lover's button and zipper, Anderson dipped his tongue into the crevice above Reid's prominent clavicle. The younger man moaned his appreciation. When pants and boxer-briefs were pooled at Reid's feet, Anderson hoisted his boyfriend into his arms and lowered him into the steaming bathwater.

Rolling up his sleeves, the elder of the two knelt beside his lover. He squirted shower gel onto his hands and began to rub Reid's slightly defined chest. When he tweaked the Spencer's nipples, the boy jumped and began to move his upper body into the touches. Anderson smirked.

He moved his ministrations to his boyfriend's abdomen, trailing his fingers up and down teasingly. He looked at Reid's face, and saw to his delight and pride that the younger man's features had relaxed, his eyes had closed, and his pouty mouth was humming in pleasure.

At long last he reached Reid's straining erection. The long organ, he noted amusedly, was the only part of the boy's body above water, apart from his head. After pouring more shower gel into his palm, Anderson began teasing his lover's cock. He twisted the head, pumped the narrow staff, gently squeezed the base- everything he knew would drive his lover wild.

Reid's feet slowly slid across the bottom of the tub towards his body and the fabulous things that his boyfriend was doing to it. His knees and calves emerged as more and more of his bottom became visible to Anderson, inspecting it from above water. The elder continued his attentions to Reid's erection with one hand while the other snaked down to rub a gelled finger at the boy's entrance. Reid's breathing was becoming labored, occasional whines and whimpers escaping his trembling lips. His lower half pressed into every stroke.

Anderson's finger breached the tight passage and began sliding in and withdrawing, keeping pace with his strokes. When he felt the boy was ready he added another finger. Anderson groaned with his lover: it had been almost two weeks since they had last had sex, and Reid was tighter than he remembered. He felt his own hardness rub against the tub through his trousers. He needed release too, but that would come later.

Reid cried out when Anderson crooked his fingers within him and found his prostate. The elder smirked again as he added another finger and aimed for that spot with each pass. Anderson could feel the boy's inner thigh trembling against his wrist. The younger man let out a keening wail that made Anderson's cock throb.

"Come on, Spencer," his voice sounded deep in his own ears, practically a growl. His strokes to the boy's erection became hastened and rough. "Cum for me, baby…"

The water splashed around Spencer's pistoning hips as he humped into the harsh strokes erratically. His channel tightened around Anderson's fingers as a breathy cry announced his release:

"AHHHN! HOTCH!"

As pearly white liquid painted the tiled walls and tub and sunk beneath the water's surface, Anderson pulled both of his hands away.

"…What did you say?"


	5. Chapter 5

It always took Reid a few minutes to come down from the high brought on by an intense orgasm. This time was no exception. The first sensation that the young man became aware of was the pleasant swish of the still-warm bathwater through his hair and submerged ears. He then became vaguely aware that his boyfriend was speaking, but the words were echoey and disjointed through the water and his post-orgasmic haze. Reid tried to blink away the brown clouds that obscured his vision. As they cleared, Anderson's face came into focus.

The boy smiled a goofy smile that was characteristic of him after experiencing a particularly forceful release. Reid's eyes roamed lazily across the features he knew so well: The strong jaw… the blue-gray eyes… the thin but expressive eyebrows… wait. Something wasn't right. He roamed over them again, this time taking in more detail: Anderson's jaw was stiff and its movements showed evidence of grinding teeth. The eyes that were just dilated in passion were now entirely blue and alight with cold intensity. His eyebrows were drawn together so tightly that, from them alone he could tell something was off.

Reid's gaze flicked to his boyfriend's lips, which were still moving. The boy lifted his head out of the tub and began rubbing his ears to dislodge the water that was still preventing him from hearing his boyfriend. It was Anderson's tone rather than his words that reached the young man first- sharp and loud, they cracked through the air like a whip.

"…the _hell_, Spencer? You think you can just fuck your boss and then come back here and let me get you off while you think of him? ANSWER me, dammit!"

Reid gasped. Was Anderson actually accusing him…?

"W-what? I don-"

"Don't what, Spencer? Don't know how your "innocent little genius" act failed?"

Anderson's tone was getting darker by the word, his eyes more piercing. His domineering figure loomed over the boy, who was struggling to recall what it was that had gone so terribly wrong.

"Patrick… am I… am I missing something?"

Anderson let out a mirthless laugh that frightened Reid more than anything his boyfriend had said. The younger man curled in on himself. Water sloshed around his thin, trembling limbs as he instinctively crossed them over his naked body.

"Alright, Spencer. Lets go over this again," Anderson's harsh voice had turned mocking and cold, "Poor, overworked genius returns home from another _grueling _case: All day long, his mean and _nasty_ boss made him draw circles on a map of some obscure town that he had flown into on a _private jet_. Tell me Spencer, did Mean and Nasty thank you for your hard work in the airplane bathroom? Or was he patient enough to wait until he could do it properly in his office, _over his_ _desk _when you got back?"

"Y-you're… telling me that you think I'm… having s-sex with _Hotch_?"

"It became more than apparent when you came all over my hand screaming his name!"

Reid almost swallowed his tongue. Once he stopped spluttering, weak words of denial left his lips. He half wished he could reel them back in:

"Patrick, you know that I wouldn't, that I'd never-"

"DON'T, you're just adding insult to injury," Patrick was straightening up, leaving the bathroom. He turned at the door, a look of disdain etched across his chiseled face, "Its bad enough that I just found out my boyfriend _fucked_ his way to 'Supervisory Special Agent.'"

The transformation was instantaneous: hurt and incredulity vanished, fury and fortitude taking their place in the young man in the tub. Reid thought again of the neanderthalic man that challenged the dominance of another by displaying genitalia. He stood, arms at his sides. Reid calculated the worst blow that he could launch in retaliation of such abuse. His voice shook as he spoke, only this time in anger rather than fear.

"If that was true, my standards must have lowered significantly when I first slept with _you_, the scut worker who'll never advance because a senior agent was shot on his watch."

It was an unspoken rule for Anderson and Reid to never speak of Elle in the presence of the other: both had unabated guilt that had lasted years concerning the woman. Nevertheless, it was Reid's jab about his boyfriend's low rank at the BAU that triggered the elder's biggest mistake yet.

Reid saw a blur of movement, and then felt his nose break and thrust up into is skull under the force of a closed fist that collided with it.

* * *

><p>The boy figured that he must have blacked out for only about three seconds- enough time for him to have fallen back into the water and not remember getting there… not enough for his boyfriend to have moved from where he appeared to be paralyzed in the doorway. Reid shifted his eyes back to the water, which was now a cloudy pink and continually darkening with blood. His blood.<p>

It was all he could see- mixed in the water, spurting into his cupped hand. His ears filled with the sound of sloshing, bloody water and he rose once more. Then Anderson's voice reached him, but the words were a panicked hum noise. Reid snatched blindly for the robe that hung on the opposite wall. He barreled through the frightened- and equally frightening- man who kept trying to touch him. Reid's slurred protest sounded strange in his own ringing ears:

"Ge'roff… Lee'b be alobe!"

He snatched his keys off the floor and stomped barefoot into a pair of black rain boots by the front door before slamming it shut and heading for the staircase.

* * *

><p>Reid never knew how he made it down five flights of stairs or across a busy street to his car. He never knew how he was able to drive out to the suburbs in such a state. His vision was impaired by a steady flow of tears and blood, judgment and reaction timing impaired by excruciating pain of every kind. He was also still drenched in bloodied bathtub water.<p>

Reid sobbed even harder in relief when he reached his destination. The boy stumbled his way across the lawn to the front door and kept his finger on the bell so that it didn't stop ringing. After about a minute (it felt much longer to Reid), quickened footsteps sounded on the other side. The door swung open.

"Pretty boy?"


	6. Chapter 6

There were a precious few things that could rouse Morgan at 3:00 AM: Clooney with an upset stomach; JJ with a new case; a gorgeous female "friend" with a booty call… and apparently a sopping, shivering, sniveling Reid now made that list.

It was the familiar mop of brown hair that registered to Morgan first- chestnut locks, plastered almost comically to the boy's head. The sight triggered a memory from long ago, which now flashed before Morgan's inner eye: Reid at age twenty-four, clambering gracelessly out of a beautiful actress' swimming pool in Hollywood, all the while muttering something about "transference." Morgan had teased him, called him a "wet rat."

Morgan's nostalgia only lasted a couple of seconds, as there _was _a young genius with chattering teeth and a bashed-in nose in his doorway. The sight of blood spilling off of Reid's chin jerked Morgan back to the present.

"Pretty boy?"

Their eyes met, Morgan's wide with concern, Reid's unfocused and dull.

"M-morg'n…" The young man swayed and stumbled. Morgan snapped out of his own shock-induced daze and caught his friend by the elbow. He half-carried the boy across the living room, depositing him on the couch. After muttering a hastened "be right back", Morgan dashed to the bathroom, where he grab a couple of towels. The dark-skinned agent ran one under warm water as he threw the other over his shoulder.

By the time Morgan made it back to the couch, Reid was slumped over the armrest. The younger man appeared to be asleep until a violent shiver coursed through him again.

"Nuh-uh, you can't be falling asleep right now, man. Chin up."

Reid's broken face split into a joyless, lopsided grin as he fumbled for the dry towel that Morgan tossed to him. _Reflexes compromised_. Morgan's frown deepened. _Then again_, _when has the kid ever caught my desk ball?_

"'s 'ardly a tibe t'dcourage 'obtibism."

"No, Reid. I meant literally- lift up your head."

Though his hesitance was obvious, the boy lifted his chin. The profiler in Morgan noted that Reid had raised it high enough so that the moist towel could access his nose, yet not so high that he would lose sight of the elder's hands.

"OWB!"

"Sorry…"

With most of the crusted and fresh blood cleared away from its source, Morgan could see that his friend's nose was indeed broken.

"Jesus, Reid… we gotta get you to a hospital," the elder agent anticipated his friend's protest before the boy could so much as open his mouth. "N_ow_, Reid."

* * *

><p>Morgan decided not to interrogate his friend on their way to Hadley Memorial. He vented his suppressed anger, shock and burning curiosity by constantly looking across the console at Reid… as if by mere glances he could spare the boy from any further pain. As if upping vigilance over the kid<em> now<em> would compensate for his failure to protect him. It wasn't fair. Reid, the skinniest, _shrimpiest_ among them seemed to be the punching bag of unsubs and bureaucrats alike. The fact that the kid seemed to maintain his innocence through every ordeal should have been comforting to the team, to Morgan. But no, Morgan's perspective as Reid's enduring "big brother" figure was unlike any other on the team. It was unique in that he alone saw how each successive trauma brought with it a worse heartbreak for the young man. Barely healed wounds ripped open again and again, and Morgan got free front row seats each and every time.

A few more "Jesus, Reid,"s escaped Morgan's lips. With each utterance, the kid seemed to shrink in on himself even more. Reid adjusted the tie on his bathrobe, hugged his exposed, knobby knees closer to his chest. He still trembled- whether from the cold or from the aftershock of whatever trauma he'd gone through, Morgan could not tell. This was what frustrated him beyond everything else. Morgan needed answers, dammit, if he was going to feel like he was helping the kid at all.

They pulled up at the nearest parking space to the ER entrance, save for the handicaps'. As Morgan cut the engine, silence engulfed the front seat. Then Reid shifted, tucking his boot-clad feet under himself. Morgan sighed.

"You needa get that nose checked out."

"Jus'… jus' by nose?"

At these words, a sickening suspicion made its presence known in the pit of Morgan's stomach. He sought eye contact with the young man in the passenger's seat, not speaking until it was made.

"Reid… were you ra-"

"NOBE! Why's e'reone care abyway?"

As Morgan was stunned into silence, Reid unbuckled his seatbelt and flung himself, too fast, out the car door. Morgan heard the sound of body colliding with metal, and in a second he was out and around the car.

"Reid!" The dark-skinned agent reached out to steady his friend, who was stumbling away from an adjacently parked car and rubbing his side.

"Ge'roff be!" Reid spat, recoiling violently.

Morgan shook his head, trying to clear away the irrational hurt he felt at his friend's actions. Didn't the kid trust him, after all they'd been through together? In his next words, the elder profiler made a conscious effort to make his voice gentler.

"Pretty boy," Reid raised his head at the endearment. "You came to my house 'cause you know you can trust me. I brought you here 'cause I'm worried about you. Please come inside."

* * *

><p>"The doctor will see your friend <em>shortly<em>, Mr. Morgan. _Every _patient in the ER is a priority case," said the nurse in clipped tones as she directed her attention away from the fuming muscle-bound agent to the skinny, wet man in a bathrobe. Her tone softened slightly as she addressed him. "You need to relax. He'll be here any minute." With that, she left the two distressed agents in a curtained-off cubicle.

Morgan knew that there would never be a "right" time to ask. This might be the only opportunity to help his friend. If he didn't do it now, Morgan knew how exactly how the events would transpire: Reid would get treatment, leave the hospital and refuse to speak of it again. Morgan hated having to corner the shy young man, but he needed to know, for both of their sakes.

"Please, Reid," the elder of the two pulled a chair right up to the examination table on which his friend sat, bent almost double. An inch of worry-creased forehead was all that was visible of the boy's face beneath his still-dripping curls. "Tell me who did this to you."

Reid's head lifted infinitesimally and their eyes met for a brief second. Morgan saw panic in the widened hazel orbs before they shifted back down to the white terrycloth that shielded his body.

"Jus' so'b guy… a 'bugger. I was 'bugged."

"…A mugger did this. You were mugged. In your bathrobe."

The boy's hands twisted in the rough fabric as he nodded fervently. Morgan's heart sank. Maybe his friend didn't trust him after all. The elder of the two couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice when he next spoke.

"You know, Reid… for a profiler, you _suck _at lying."

Their eyes met again, Morgan's cold and hard, Reid's pleading yet unyielding.

Just then, the sound of a curtain rings scraping against a metal bar sounded behind Morgan. A short, balding, middle-aged man in a lab coat stepped up beside the examination table, consulting a chart. He looked up then, and addressed Reid.

"Mister… Agent?... Excuse me, _Doctor_ Reid," the medical doctor's lips quirked sheepishly as he glanced up at the boy, assessing his injuries before refocusing on the chart. Morgan tapped his foot agitatedly. Once again, the doctor's eyes lifted from his precious documents, this time to appraise Morgan with a quirked eyebrow. Apparently used to impatient next-of-kin and other patient tag-alongs, the doctor ignored him. Somehow, this pissed Morgan off even more.

"I'm Doctor Tinevez. I'll be taking care of you this early morning," _Who is this dude, a steakhouse waiter?_ Morgan could feel his patience dwindling. "Roll up your sleeve, please, I need to take your blood pressure."

The elder profiler was acutely aware that Reid kept his eyes trained on the other doctor as he tugged the robe about three inches up his left forearm.

"All the way, _Doctor_."

Reid's hunched posture became even more defensive, head lowering further in shame as his inner elbow was bared to the sight of the elder men. Dr. Tinevez paused in unfurling a sphygmometer, bending to instead scrutinize the faded puncture marks on the young man's trembling arm.

"Ah. And how long has it been since your last… self-administered injection?"

In moments of mistrust and worry, Morgan had wondered the same thing. Part of him was still curious. It was the same part that was now tempted to remain mute and take advantage of Reid's resolve not to lie to a physician in regard to his addiction to dilaudid.

Was that the type of friend that Morgan wanted to be? And he wondered why Reid didn't confide in him…

"Is this really relevant, _doctor_?" Morgan mimicked the Dr. Tinevez's earlier tone.

The latter's face hardened into a glower. Without taking his eyes off the agent who just _seeped_ unspoken threats, he addressed his patient.

"Doctor Reid, are you comfortable with your "friend" remaining here through the examination?"

"Nobe," The response was immediate. Again, Morgan was dismayed by Reid's continued rebuff. "I want'm to leabe."

"Sir, you heard the patient."

If Morgan wasn't sure that socking the MD would've delayed the kid's recovery, he would have done so in right then and there, hospital security be damned. Instead, the elder agent ripped back the curtain and stalked off to the waiting room, whipping out his phone and hitting speed dial midstride.

"Hotch? Thank God I got ahold of you… listen, no, _listen_, Hotch… I'm here with Reid at Hadley Memorial Hospital, you gotta get here quick, man..."

* * *

><p>Miles away, in apartment 121, an enraged unit chief tightened gun-calloused fingers around his work phone. After two minutes of attentive listening and terse questions, he snapped it shut. Aaron Hotchner was on the war path.<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

For the third time since reaching the intersection, Hotch blared his horn at nobody. He'd been just about to run the yellow, and then the damn traffic light had turned. That little spot of red dangled high and taunting from above. Hotch honked again for good measure.

A man driving the new Audi in the far left lane was yelling something, presumably at Hotch. Exactly _what_ he was yelling, or indeed if it was directed at him, Hotch couldn't discern over the pulsing in his ears. Oh God, his _ear_… The former prosecutor swore at the top of his lungs. If his_ fucking_ torn right eardrum started acting up again… The last time Hotch's hyperacusis had given him trouble while driving, he'd had to pull over until the high-pitched ringing had died down. Finally, the light turned green. Hotch gunned the accelerator, earning a few honks for himself.

The road rage that the Unit Chief was exhibiting that early morning was very un-Hotch like. Or, so said a berating voice inside his head. Unfortunately for his fellow motorists, Hotch had shed his steadfast conscience before he'd entered the vehicle. At least enough sound judgment had remained intact for him to resist running a red light.

Hotch turned sharply into Hadley Memorial's ER parking lot and sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the rest of his drive had remained unimpeded. As he marched through the automatic doors, he felt about a dozen pairs of eyes fix on him. The veteran profiler was fully aware of the effect that his presence had on people- the sharp suit, immaculately combed hair and patented glare shouted domineering to anyone who caught a glimpse, and rightly so. Hotch could intimidate a suspect in interrogation into pissing themselves, and he would use the same tactics to find Reid if he had to.

"I'm looking for a Doctor Spencer Reid. He's just been admitted."

The Unit Chief expected resistance, even suspicion on the part of the young woman that minded the nurse's station. But from the way her manicured hands flew straight to the keyboard, she must know he meant business. Good.

"Yes, alright. I believe Dr. Tinevez is tending to him in Exam Room B."

"…Where's Room B?"

"Oh, right! Of course, yes…"

The flustered nurse led him past injury after ailment after malady. Hotch heard the deep rumble of Morgan's voice, amplified in obvious anger, before he saw him. He was pacing around a curtain that was pulled around a small section of the tiled floor on three sides. Suddenly, a muffled yelp came from behind the partition.

"Dammit, you're hurting him!"

Hotch heard an exasperated sigh from inside the curtained-off area.

"I have already anesthetized the fracture. If he feels any discomfort, its probably because having **curved artery forceps** up his nose will take some getting used to. Mr. Morgan, kindly find your way to the waiting room. There's a floor guide about ten paces to your right."

Morgan clenched his jaw and flipped the rude doctor off through the curtain. He turned on his heel to resume pacing, only to find the Unit Chief blocking his path.

"Hotch, thank God-"

"Just tell me what happened."

The dark-skinned agent took a breath and glanced in the direction of the injured young man that could neither see them nor be seen. Morgan ran a hand over his shaved head and lowered his voice:

"Reid shows up at my place in a bathrobe with his nose busted in. He was disoriented and shivering, totally soaking wet-"

"You said his nose… it's broken?"

"Oh, its definitely broken. Soon as I saw it, I knew I had to take him here…"

Morgan broke off, shaking his head.

"Do you know who did this?"

"He won't talk, man. He barely let me touch him…"

"I'm going in."

Perhaps Morgan knew better than to try and stop his boss, because he stepped aside despite what Hotch had heard the doctor say. As the Unit Chief ripped open the curtain, his heart clenched at the sight before him. Reid was stretched across the examination table, drenched in water and splattered in his own blood. He was bent back an awkward angle, his head tipped up. The boy had gone cross-eyed in his attempt to watch the physician as a nasal splint was smoothed across the forehead and newly reset nose. His eyes and those of the medical doctor now snapped to Hotch.

"What the- you have no author-"

"Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, Doctor Reid is my subordinate," Hotch cut in smoothly, "I'm responsible for his well-being in and out of the field. So yes, I _do_ have authorization to be here. And I'll stay as long as he needs me."

There was a spluttering sound from the examination table. Reid had pulled away from the physician and slapped the man's gloved hands away. The boy yanked the packing out of his nostrils and fixed a threatening glower on his boss that was entirely at odds with his weakened condition.

"You think I _need_ you? I can't believe... how dare… just GET OUT!"

Hotch was stunned. Was this because of the kiss? He knew that he'd messed up, that things between them were still up in the air. But didn't Reid understand that their unresolved… issues needed to be set aside in the wake of him getting _beat up_? Before Hotch could address the matter, the medical doctor spoke up.

"The man told you to leave. If you don't get out of my ER, I will have you bodily removed."

"A federal agent's been assaulted and you're dangerously close to interfering with the investigation. I can have _you '_bodily removed' just as easily, and it won't be a trip to the waiting room."

After a tense beat of silence, the doctor threw his forceps and gloves into a tray and stormed out through the curtain. As the sound of his footsteps faded, Reid turned his bloodied, bandaged face to look at Hotch. There were tears in his eyes.

"Hotch, I… I'm…" The boy's voice faltered.

"Don't tell me you're fine," Hotch snapped. He couldn't stand this anymore, this power that Anderson had over the young man. That monster… How could anyone hurt such a gentle, innocent soul? "I know it was him, Reid."

This seemed to reignite the anger in the boy's eyes.

"You can't just... swoop in and try to take care of me! Morgan and Dr. Tinevez were doing a fine job before YOU messed everything up… the plaster hasn't even dried yet!"

Reid's hand was running gingerly over the cast that held his freshly set nose.

"Morgan called me here. He said that you've been avoiding questions… and you pull away violently when he tries to help."

"Thats because it hurt! It still hurts…"

Hotch sighed and softened his tone:

"If anything, that pain should show you the damage Anderson's done. You have to see that he's not right-"

"And you are?"

Their eyes met again, Hotch's intense, Reid's hurt and watery. Then the younger man's gaze flickered to the floor. He shifted on the table, absently pulling at the tie to his robe. Without looking back up, he spoke again with quiet determination:

"You _kissed_ me Hotch, knowing full well that I'm committed to another man- the same man that you unjustly suspended from his job... which he needs, by the way. What makes you any more 'right' than Patrick?"

Hotch couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Committed" and "unjust" rang in his ears like his hyperacusis had almost done in the car. Was Reid actually comparing him to that brute? Hotch sank into a chair that he supposed had been occupied by Morgan only minutes before.

"Reid… Spencer," For the second time that early morning, the boy's attention was caught by the use of his first name. The young man's eyes widened as Hotch took his trembling hand in his own. "You deserve someone who adores you… who doesn't just appreciate your body, but worships it… who loves you for your mind," Hotch reached his free hand up to brush the drying chestnut hair away from Reid's forehead, "and your heart," the hand came to rest on the boy's thin, terry-cloth covered chest.

Reid's breath hitched and he gulped audibly. The sounds coming from the young man sent Hotch's mind reeling in conflict: He knew that he shouldn't, knew it was wrong… but to seal the words with a kiss in that moment seemed so right… slowly, Hotch leaned forward and gently caressed the boy's lips with his own.

Hotch pulled back to see a look of utter peace cross the young man's face. His eyes fluttered open, a dreamlike quality to them. Then Reid blinked, hard. The glassy orbs seemed to clear.

A sudden flurry of movement registered in the Unit Chief's peripheral vision. Before he could react, he felt a stinging pain in his right cheek as a resounding crack sounded in his ears… He'd been slapped for the first time since high school.

"I can't believe you KISSED me again!"

Both agents turned at the screech of the curtain once again being ripped open.

"You did WHAT?"


	8. Chapter 8

_ I find__ that I __do__ some of __my best work under__ intense terror._

That's what Reid had told the Unit Chief on their way back from a trip to a Connecticut prison that had nearly cost both of them their lives. If Hotch hadn't provoked Chester Hardwick, Reid wouldn't have had to distract the notorious serial killer from making good on his threats. It was because of the young man's quick thinking and improvisational profiling that both agents had made it out of the custodial interview alive. And while it _was_ a true that stress-induced epinephrine had uncluttered Reid's mind in that prison cell, the boy had said what he'd said in the hopes that it would alleviate some of his boss' guilt.

Now here Reid sat, nearly five years later, having just screamed at and _slapped_ the same Unit Chief for _kissing_ him. As if that didn't fulfill a few days' quota of irony, the "intense terror" that Reid felt in that moment seemed only to have rendered him completely mute. The boy sat frozen on the examination table as his best friend and colleague had it out with Hotch:

"…after all the kid's been through tonight, you go and KISS him?"

"You don't know the half of it, Morgan…"

Like a vicious storm, the two alpha males continued to rage above Reid. Alpha males… was there no one else in his life? He was getting fed up with the primal turf wars, the carnal possessiveness. Everything was about power- over the BAU and over him. It was actually making the young man ill… He thought he felt a migraine coming on. Reid covered his ears, but voices seemed to be growing louder.

"'…the only one on his side. I call you over here thinkin' if _anyone_, you could make this right… If the Bureau knew you took advantage of an assault victim…"

Reid was finding it difficult to self-assess migraine symptoms while Hotch and Morgan raged on. He curled in on himself and found that the rough, damp material of his bathrobe was giving his delicate skin rug burn. Although the boy felt the terrycloth scratch his chest and stomach, he recognized the pins-and-needles symptom set in along his arms and legs.

"…is between Reid-"

"_Reid_ came to _me_ because he trusts…"

The ceiling was blurred into the fluorescent lights that mercilessly assaulted to boy's dilated eyes. It was making Reid lightheaded, and he knew that it wouldn't be long before his equilibrium was affected. But first would come the pain, he reminded himself… Reid didn't think he could take any more pain…

"…'Least I wouldn't've tried to PUT THE MOVES on him after he'd been beaten and who knows what else-"

"_He_ knows what else, Morgan. And he sure doesn't seem 'trust' you enough to tell you, does he?"

Reid could feel Morgan's gaze shift back to him. The deep gasp that followed echoed in the younger man's ears, as if from the other end of a long tunnel. _Now_ he felt the pain… a pulsating, throbbing pain in his head that made the broken nose feel like a gentle pinch by comparison. Reid swayed on the table, barely hearing his best friend yell something indistinguishable before tipping sideways... and then everything was dark.

* * *

><p>Morgan curled his hand around the pale, slender one that rested on top of the bed sheets. Once again, he raised his eyes to the sleeping face of his best friend. The elder agent's sadness deepened as he realized that Reid's mind was probably only at peace in sleep- drug-induced sedation, rather. Normally, even his naps on the jet were fraught with nightmares. For the kid's sake, Morgan hoped, he'd stay asleep for a while longer.<p>

Just as the thought crossed Morgan's mind, Reid's fingers twitched in his. A sharp nose crinkled, pouted lips parted in a sigh, and lightly veined eyelids fluttered open to reveal a pair of dazed- but definitely awake- brown eyes.

"Mo'gn?"

"Don't try to talk, Pretty Boy, I'll tell you what's goin' on," Reid seemed unsatisfied yet incapable of arguing with Morgan's proposition. "You blacked out in the ER. Doc says probably from residual head trauma- don't worry, its not the same asshole who fixed your nose. They brought you up here, gave you some drugs," Morgan cursed himself at the panicked look that flashed through his friend's eyes at this. "No narcotics, I promise. Anyway… Hotch told me about Anderson… and about you two."

Reid's recently reassured expression switched back to panic.

"Mo'gn, where-"

"He's getting coffee. Once he comes back and sees that you're okay, he's gonna… give you some space."

Morgan looked intently into the expressive eyes of his friend, silently imploring him to understand, to not ask-

"Patrick…"

The elder agent's jaw tightened at the name. Apparently this _couldn't _wait until after Reid was healed.

"Hotch has to do this. The guy hurt you, man. He's not treating you right."

On the pillow, Reid's head shook infinitesimally.

"You don'… don't-"

Morgan squeezed the Reid's hand in one of his and reached the other to brush a wayward lock of chestnut hair out of the kid's eyes.

"Shh…Its okay. Just sleep, Reid."

* * *

><p>Placing his beer on the corner of the coffee table, it occurred to Anderson that his boyfriend would've thrown a hissy fit had he been there. But he wasn't. God knows where he was… Probably with Aaron <em>Fucking<em> Hotchner, he thought scathingly. Good. The ring of rotting wood that Reid would find upon his return would just add insult to injury- literally.

He was guilty about socking his lover in the nose, but he had a coping system worked out: With every pang of his conscience, he downed another bottle. It seemed that the effects of alcohol could numb the effects of remorse. Anderson's hearing, on the other hand, remained unimpaired: Even through his intoxicated haze, the deep, muffled shout that sounded from behind the apartment door was crystal clear:

"Anderson, this is Aaron Hotchner. Announce yourself and come out."

The low-ranking agent threw his head back and laughed. Had Reid set this up? Was this what he'd wanted all along- a battle for his heart? Who did the boy think he was, a jousting tournament prize? Anderson chuckled drunkenly at the pictured his lover in Princess robes. What a kink, he thought, as he stumbled to the door to meet his adversary. The agent paused just before he reached for the lock. He grinned and stepped away.

"If you want to storm the castle, sir knight, you'll have to blast your way past the dragon!"

Anderson thought he'd been shot when an explosive sound rent the air. Belatedly, he realized it had been the lock snapping as the door flew open to reveal a livid, armed Unit Chief. Hotch promptly tackled and cuffed him, with perhaps more force than was compulsory for a drunk man who did not react quickly enough to fight back.

"You have the right to remain silent…"

As Anderson was pulled roughly from the ground and shoved into the hall, he pictured the reaction of every BAU agent when they found out what a little _slut_ their innocent Dr. Reid was.


	9. Chapter 9

It took an incredible amount of willpower for Reid to get out of bed on Monday morning- still more for him to bother showering around his cast or driving to Quantico without taking any of the sixty-three opportunities to turn back. The last thing Reid wanted to do was walk into an office full of profilers with a broken nose and a broken heart. Though the latter might be harder to detect, he knew it wouldn't take his teammates long. They were the best in the world at what they did.

As he reached the BAU's frosted glass doors, Reid took a deep, calming breath. He was readying himself for the onslaught of panicked questions and fussing and_ touching _that he'd undoubtedly be subjected to as soon as his coworkers saw him… but it never came. As the boy made a beeline for his desk, he could see through his peripheral vision that Prentiss and Rossi seemed to be entirely engrossed in paperwork. JJ hadn't even come out of her office… Strange. Reid was relieved that he'd been spared any _unwanted _attention, but the silence seemed eerie in the wake of his imagined sympathy stampede.

Then something occurred to Reid: Who was the only agent absent from the bullpen when he'd just _happened_ to arrive? Who had gone out of his way to take care of the young man all weekend- staying with him at the hospital until he was discharged; settling him back in at home; promising everything would be alright? _Morgan_ must have done something, said something to make the team leave him alone.

Just as Reid came to this conclusion, he spotted the dark-skinned agent exiting the kitchenette, two coffees in hand. Morgan approached his younger friend's desk and placed the thermal cup beside a pile of case reports. The younger smiled his thanks, not just for the coffee. The elder nodded once, solemnly, before leaving his friend in peace. Reid's heart swelled in gratitude before clenching at the sound of his phone vibrating in his coat pocket. Intuition told him who it was before he saw the name at the bottom of the screen.

**Please see me in my office.**

**Aaron**

Immediately, Reid's profiling instincts took over, analyzing the seven concise words: The message itself was flat and unfeeling, like Hotch had been when he'd made Reid see things that the young man hadn't wanted to see in his boyfriend… but it was also direct, very "cards on the table", the way Hotch had been when he'd kissed him… Not to mention the name. His _given_ name. Reid found more meaning loaded into that name than he'd found in any of the hundreds of thousands of books he'd read.

* * *

><p>"Take a seat, please."<p>

Hotch regarded the boy from across the oak desk. While the plaster cast protected Reid's nose, the young man's defensive posture shielded the rest of him as clearly as if he'd raided the unit's supply of Kevlar.

"Spencer, I'm cutting you from field duty for a while. In your condition-"

"_What_? You can't be serious, Hotch!"

The Unit Chief decided to ignore his agent's outburst for the time being.

"You'd be putting the team as well as yourself in-"

"Its my _nose_!"

Strike two.

"You can't sign off on your own reinstatement papers again. That may have gone through with the higher-ups in the past, but if you remember, it didn't get past me."

The boy's face flooded with color as Hotch used his past misdemeanors against him. Reid looked so beautiful that the Unit Chief couldn't bring himself to feel guilty over the cheap shot.

"The average time for a fractured nasal bone to heal is two and a half weeks- and although patients are generally advised to avoid potentially traumatic activity during this period, recent studies have-"

"Its not just your physical well-being that concerns me, Spencer," _That _cut off the young man's ramblings. Reid was narrowing his eyes, but Hotch was done sugarcoating. "You're out of the field until I'm satisfied that you're completely stable."

The young man looked positively mutinous as he muttered something unintelligible. Hotch thought he'd heard "ass."

"What was that?"

"You're _biased_. Completely biased! You're too involved with this- with _me_- to objectively determine if I'm '_stable_,'" Reid positively spat out the word. "What's more, you're not a licensed psychologist. Refer me to a Bureau shrink if that'll-"

"Don't insult my intelligence, Spencer! You told me yourself that you could run circles around your therapist at the age of four!"

"Oh, I see," Reid's dainty features took on a mock-epiphinal expression that boiled Hotch's blood. "You're justifiably judge, jury, _and _executioner when it comes to me, is that it?"

"For God's sake, Spencer, it'll just be a few weeks in-"

"Where, Hotch? A bunker, like Garcia? Or are you going to put the Good Doctor behind a receptionist's desk… No, I know- you're going to demote me to Patrick's job. You'd get a real kick out of that, wouldn't you?" Hotch couldn't believe how scathing the young man could be when he aimed to wound. Reid had long surpassed insubordination, and the boy knew it. "I guess there's nothing left to discuss. I'll pack up my things and see Facilities Management about a new desk…"

"Are you done?" Hotch asked with a tightened jaw.

Chocolate brown eyes pierced the golden pair. Suddenly meekened under the Unit Chief's intense glare, Reid nodded in submission.

"There's another matter… it concerns your living situation. Due to your loss of consciousness at the hospital, its been recommended that you live with a roommate for at least a month."

"I'm not even prone to fainting spells!" Reid practically squeaked.

"Still. As your superior, its my responsibility to ensure your safety on the job… and as someone who cares about you…" Reid harrumphed. Hotch's frown deepened. _No sugarcoating_. "You're moving in with me and Jack. Effective immediately."

Reid's eyes seemed to bulge out of his skull. Words seemed to fail him. He made a few feeble attempts at speech, but only managed a strangled sort of croak. It might have been comical had Hotch been daft enough to misinterpret Reid's incredulity as a positive sign.

"Think of it as the fast track to getting back in the field: I can keep track of your progress, and… maybe we can learn to understand each other."

Reid continued to gape like a codfish. Hotch attempted to placate the young man's practical side with logistics of a gradual move-in, starting the next day. Reid was not pleased. Hotch's jaw tightened again. He was feeling a bit like Mr. Darcy after Elizabeth's continual rejection. The boy all but sprinted to the door, leaving Hotch to wonder if he and Reid could ever have a Jane Austen ending of their own. On queue, Reid then whirled around to hiss furiously over his shoulder:

"And don't call me Spencer!"

As the door slammed shut Hotch ran a hand through his jetblack hair, thinking dismally that there was no shortage of pride _or_ prejudice between him and Reid.


	10. Chapter 10

"_Jesus_, Hotch, I thought he was_ easing_ into the move," wheezed Rossi as he and Hotch dumped their fifth and seventh hefty cardboard boxes, respectively, into the trunk of the black SUV. Before the Unit Chief could reply, a disheveled-looking Reid appeared from where he'd been hunched in the passenger seat. He'd undoubtedly been fussing with more boxes, but stopped his rummaging to fix a glare on his senior teammates.

"I'm not 'easing' into anything," the boy grumbled.

"That's for sure," said Rossi, wiping his brow.

"I do this under protest!"

"Oh, you've made that abundantly clear," the Unit Chief cut in smoothly.

Reid's glower darkened, but Hotch seemed completely unfazed- or would have to any untrained eye. To Rossi, seasoned profiler and the best friend of his current object of analysis, it was "abundantly clear" that Hotch wasn't "easing" to Reid's standoffishness.

Of course, the eldest team member had several working theories concerning the sudden rift in rapport between the two. One such theory was rising in plausibility after every scowl, every snippy exchange that Rossi had witnessed. The question was, how would Rossi confirm his suspicions?

He watched as the Unit Chief tried to assist Reid in lifting an especially heavy box into the passenger seat- and Reid's answering hiss of spite. And suddenly, inspiration struck Rossi… an idea born of mischief and child-like curiosity in equal measure.

The seasoned profiler extended a gun-calloused hand towards Reid's head, which had just reemerged from the back seat. He smoothed his fingers over the tousled and staticky chestnut curls.

"You look a little… ruffled, kid."

As Rossi withdrew his hand, he smirked at Reid's widening eyes and slightly gaping mouth. The boy's face had gone so slack that Rossi feared the bandaging on his nose would fall off. Through his peripheral vision, he noted Hotch's change in demeanor: the forced nonchalance of thirty seconds ago had completely dissipated, to be replaced by a vicious and snarling guard dog. _Now_ Rossi was sure.

Hotch's eyes narrowed into slits as Rossi remained impervious to his aggressive body language and patented glare- the elder profiler wasn't going to play his game… not when he had his own to play.

The tension broke when a familiar, jeering baritone sounded from behind:

"Seriously, Pretty Boy, what in Hell did you pack in these things?"

"What do you think, Morgan?" Rossi chuckled good-naturedly.

The dark skinned agent sauntered closer, rolling his eyes.

"Books, yeah, but something's rattling around in here…"

He shook the box, and a faint crashing noise came from within the duct-taped box. A gasp sounded from within the SUV, and Reid came scrambling over the seat and out of the trunk.

"No, Morgan-"

As the young man made a snatch for the box, Morgan hoisted it above his head, biceps bulging. Hotch and Rossi watched as the two engaged in a sort of whirling, leaping, very uncoordinated dance for possession of Reid's precious cargo.

"Morgan, give it!"

"Tell me what it is, Reid!"

"NO!"

Seeing an opportunity to further his analysis, Rossi clocked Hotch's newly adjusted stance: The Unit Chief's left hand was braced on the SUV for support, his weakened knees slightly bent. Hotch's body remained stock still as his eyes glazed over, the sight Reid's lithe body prancing like a gazelle reflected in the glassy orbs. Yep, Rossi was sure.

"Spock's three-dimensional chess set?"

"Stop it! Give-"

"Doctor Who's tortoise?"

"MORGAN!"

"Vader's glove?"

Rossi was loath to interrupt Hotch's reverie, but there were boxes to be moved and grounding conversations to be held. With the same hand that he'd just though Reid's hair, Rossi clapped his friend on the shoulder and indicated the apartment with a jerk of his head. Hotch nodded grimly, and the two men set off again for the stairs, leaving the pair of juveniles tussling in their wake.

* * *

><p>"Your apartment building has an elevator, right, Hotch?" Rossi huffed as they reached the first landing.<p>

"No, but I live on the first floor," said Hotch, wondering when the real talking would start. "Reid's is only five stories up, anyway."

"Its not five stories when you're scaling it two dozen times with nerd artifacts in a box."

Hotch grinned begrudgingly. He'd never been able to stay angry with Dave for long… but he did need to know one thing.

"You don't… You're not… _interested_ in-"

"Reid?" Rossi chuckled. "Not in the slightest."

Hotch let out a whoosh of breath that he hadn't been aware of holding. They climbed the third set of stairs in silence. Upon reaching the landing, Rossi stopped and leaned against the banister. The Unit Chief assumed that his friend would catch his breath, and then catch up. He turned in surprise when the elder man spoke:

"How long?"

"Dave, its one more flight!"

"Aaron," The two made eye contact, and suddenly, Hotch felt trapped in the narrow staircase. Why couldn't Reid have a first floor apartment, too? "How long have you been in love with Spencer Reid?"

Hotch heard his own swallow and nervous laugh, both sounding weak and utterly transparent in his own ears. There was no use in denying to Rossi what had taken so long to admit to himself.

"Months. Years, maybe… But I only fully realized it when," Hotch closed his eyes, clenching and unclenching his jaw before continuing. "I saw him… _with_ Anderson."

Hotch knew all too well that Rossi was the kind of friend who would listen, truly listen, before interjecting with comfort, advice, even admonishment. He both loved and despised the elder man for it- half wishing that Rossi would shout him down, right there in the stairwell, for being so stupid, so _human_.

"And his hands," Hotch continued, the words flowing out of his mouth in sharp, gasping phrases as the events from the copy room played out in front of his minds eye. "Anderson had his hands all over Spencer's body… He was on top of him, holding him down and _God_, I could've killed him."

For the first time since starting his confession, he peered at Rossi. The man was still leaning against the banister, arms crossed, head tilted in a contemplative manner. The elder man's lips quirked in a half-smile, and he nodded his encouragement.

"I wanted to strangle Anderson with one hand and pull Spencer close with the other… I wanted to believe that Spencer would never consent to… with-"

"You wanted to believe that he was raped."

This time, Hotch was sure that he would see disgust, condemnation on his friend's face. He saw neither. Etched in the contours of Rossi's face, set deeply in his eyes was pure acceptance. It was this unspoken understanding that was Hotch's undoing. Through welling tears, Hotch continued in a choked rasp:

"At the hospital, Reid told me that he was 'committed' to Anderson. He was broken, and bleeding, and he _still_ defended that abusive lowlife!"

"You know, Hotch," As the Unit Chief met his friend's gaze once more, he knew immediately that he was about to hear something he didn't wish to. "As I recall, Reid came into work with a plastered nose _after_ the case in Maine."

"What're you saying?" asked Hotch, thickly.

"I'm saying, Aaron, that if I understand everything you've just told me… and I've connected the right dots… Your assumptions about Anderson- and the resulting animosity between you and Reid- triggered a conflict between Reid and Anderson, which ended in Anderson's first act of domestic violence against Reid."

It took a few seconds for Rossi's words to sink in. When they did, Hotch felt a sickening pain growing in his abdomen, as if he'd just been kicked there… just like… A vision of a younger Reid, aged twenty-four filled Hotch's mind. The boy was doubled over on a tiled hospital floor, clutching his abdomen as Hotch rained kick after kick to said region in an effort to distract an unsub. Hours after the boy had put a bullet through the gunman's brain, Hotch had checked up on him. Reid had assured his boss that he had come out virtually unscathed, and it was weeks later that Hotch discovered that the young man had suffered three cracked ribs. The boy had sought medical attention on his own, but that only added to Hotch's feeling that-

"This was my fault."

"Aaron, _no_, that's not what I'm saying. Get that thought out of your head."

Hotch gazed forlornly at his best friend, who stared sternly back.

"THEN WHAT _ARE_ YOU SAYING?" Hotch bellowed across the fourth floor landing, not caring if any residents could hear… not caring if the world could hear.

"All of this… everything you've told me and everything you haven't; everything that you understand and everything that you don't- it all would have come out in one way or another: Reid and Anderson's relationship," Hotch flinched at such a euphemism for something so ugly. "Your feelings," a single tear cascaded down Hotch's face and he wiped at it furiously. He felt like Jack, like his seven-year-old son.

"Then how-"

"What you chose to do about those feelings only acted as a catalyst for what followed. You know it's only a matter of time and opportunity for a lover as jealous as Anderson was to blame their partner, or hurt them. What _Anderson_ chose to do about _his _feelings is on him, Hotch."

Hotch nodded mutely. As his sinuses cleared, so did his mind- and with that, his guilt.

"You think this is all some big self-fulfilling prophecy?"

Hotch felt a sudden, mad desire to laugh at how mystical their combined profiling sounded. Rossi crossed the space between them and rested his hand on the Unit Chief's shoulder.

"Call it what you want, Aaron, but you know I'm right."

"Alright, Dave."

The two shared a look of pure understanding before ascending the last few stairs to grab the last of Reid's boxes.

* * *

><p>An SUV identical to the one in which Reid still rummaged pulled up on the other side of the apartment. The building now appeared to have half a dozen agents covering it, all of them on a mission. This was, in fact, the case.<p>

"Did we miss it?"

"Prentiss, if by that you mean 'are we too late to help move all of Reid's shit out of his apartment just so he can move back in a month,' then yeah, you missed it," drawled Morgan, as he slammed the trunk doors shut, eliciting a startled squeak from the genius inside.

"Actually, no," called Prentiss, "I meant: 'did we miss Reid trying to carry boxes that are three times his body weight'."

"I've been here since six AM, and I haven't seen Pretty Boy carry a _single box_," said Morgan, wrenching open the SUV door, pulling Reid out and giving him a noogie.

Prentiss, and JJ snickered at the sight of Reid whining and wiggling in his best friend's grasp while Garcia swatted at Morgan.

"Let go of my baby, you might re-dislocate his nosey-bones!"

"How much stuff is he taking to Hotch's, exactly?" asked JJ, peering at the mass of boxes behind the tinted trunk windows.

"About as much as _he_ can pack and _we_ can carry," grumbled Rossi, emerging with Hotch.

"I'm injured," grumbled Reid.

Morgan snorted.

"You broke your nose, not your penis! You're still a man, and you can still lift."

Reid blushed furiously at the mention of his genitalia and scurried back into the SUV.

"Better take him home, Hotch. I think he needs a break from Morgan," said Rossi, in a mock whisper.

Laughing, each member of the team took their turn wishing Reid well in his new, temporary residence. Meanwhile, Hotch stood off to the side, surveying the scene that simultaneously warmed his heart and made it clench. After entering the vehicle and buckling, Hotch glanced across the console at the boy he loved- the boy who was staring fixedly at a speck of dirt on the dashboard. Whether or not Rossi's self-fulfilling prophecy theory had a base in reality, Hotch was willing to take a shot at another.


	11. Chapter 11

Hotch's apartment was smaller than Reid had expected, and much more sparse. The walls were painted in muted tones of brown, the furniture practical and plain. The young man recognized his boss' minimalistic style from work. Every surface was cleared and clean, save for the occasional action figure on the coffee table or carpeted floor. Colorful and clearly out of their proper place, they alone gave the apartment a lived-in feel.

Reid wandered from room to room in full profiler-mode, thankful for the chance for a self-guided tour. It was better than the alternative, he supposed. Glancing back at the apartment door, he belatedly realized that that's probably what Hotch had intended.

Minutes ago, the Unit Chief had excused himself to return to the SUV and carry up some of Reid's boxes. The young man had been ignored when he'd snapped that he could "carry his own damn boxes, thank you very much," and had been left to hiss and spit at the closed door. Reid had been convinced that Hotch had merely found another patronization technique to make him feel weak and invalid. Now, as the day's first silence echoed in his ears, he identified Hotch's masked courtesy.

Reid crossed the living room to the large window and looked out at the street. There was Hotch, lifting yet another cardboard box from the standard issue vehicle. Reid sighed. Staying in constant fury with Hotch wasn't going to be as easy as he'd originally anticipated- not when his boss was clearly putting in an effort to make Reid feel at home.

The door creaked open, causing Reid to jump nearly a foot in the air. The young man turned to face the elder, whose brows were raised.

"We may need to monitor your caffeine intake along with your recovery."

Reid scowled, suddenly remembering all the reasons why Hotch was last on his list of desirable roommates. The whole arrangement reeked of jealousy and a need for control on the Unit Chief's part. Two traits, Reid remembered, that Hotch had accused Anderson of just yesterday.

"I brought my own beans. And espresso machine." _And I will sleep with both under my pillow, _Reid silently swore. Speaking of which…

"While you were gone, I took a look around," he gulped, suddenly unsure of how to phrase this. "And I… well, I noticed that this is a two-bedroom apartment. Having accounted for you and Jack… there's really nowhere for me to sleep." Reid didn't bother trying to keep the hope out of his voice.

"I'm taking the couch, Reid," Hotch intoned, as though it were obvious. "It's a fold-out. For as long as you're staying here, you'll have the master bed." He indicated the room that Reid had felt intrusive peering into on his self-guided tour.

"Oh. Then, I'll just…" Reid scurried forward, intending on taking the sealed box that Hotch still held. A sharp intake of breath sounded in his ear. Oh _no_, he'd trodden on Hotch's toe. Hastily, Reid retracted his foot-

"HNNGH!"

-and gaped in horror. Hotch was bent double over the package that he still grasped, his face twisted into a grimace of pain that Reid recognized immediately, specifically because he was male. Gingerly, the younger man pried the box out of Hotch's white-knuckled grip. Parcel in hand, he retreated into the master bedroom, gasping out mortified apologies all the while.

The boy sagged against the closed door and ran a hand over his face. Reid's heated cheeks were precisely the same shade of burgundy as the duvet cover that he then face-planted into.

After a full minute of groaning in embarrassment into a cream-colored pillow, the young man's conscience had all but petered out. He no longer felt any guilt as he recalled Hotch's pained expression of a moment ago. Perhaps… just perhaps, a knee to the groin was Hotch's karmic prize for abusing his power as Special Agent in Charge. So _what_ if the kneeing had been unintentional? It was retribution all the same.

For weeks, Reid had been the victim of hierarchical cruelty, of bureaucratic bullying. His pride was wounded, left to seep in righteous indignation. It had been festering for so long, having never been given the proper care. But _now_, Reid had time to tend it- to feed it with revenge. And what better way than to give Hotch a taste of what he'd been feeling?

Reid would look for something embarrassing, incriminating… something private. Everyone holds secrets in their room somewhere, even Hotch. How fitting was it that _this_ would be the first room that he would search without a warrant?

Feeling suddenly rejuvenated, the young man began to tear the room apart. As Reid searched, his new maniacal side egged him on. Like a hurricane, his path from the dresser to the desk to the vents left havoc in its wake. Yet it seemed that the more he looked, the less he found. Everything was so infuriatingly expected: The desk was littered in old case files and letters from Georgetown Law requesting him to lecture; The closet held a dozen starched white dress shirts and countless, conservative ties… Reid thought he'd struck gold when he came across a shoebox on a closet shelf, but it was filled with old pictures of him and his deceased ex-wife.

Suddenly feeling sick with himself, Reid lay across the bed once more. His temporary distraction had left him feeling more juvenile and pathetic than before. Reid checked the time on the alarm clock perched on the nightstand, and was about to- wait.

Reid rolled onto his front and propped himself up on his elbows. With a trembling hand, he reached for the handle of the nightstand's single drawer and pulled.

"Oh my..." he breathed aloud.

He'd found lubricant. Lots and lots of lubricant. Reid's immediate thought was that Hotch must have more "game" than Morgan. Then, logic returned. As romantically forward as Hotch had been in the last week or so, Reid knew his boss was responsible, even repressed. He'd never bring strange women (or men?) to his home, _especially_ not with his son sleeping in the next room. The only plausible explanation was that Aaron Hotchner masturbated… a lot. Unbidden images bloomed the young man's imagination- Hotch on this very bed, stretched out languidly on the pillows, stroking a thick, swollen penis to completion.

The young man gasped as a knock sounded at the door.

"Reid? Is everything alright in there?"

Reid slammed the drawer shut. He tripped over himself getting to the door, lest Hotch come in and see the chaos that his room had been reduced to. Opening it just enough to squeeze through sideways, Reid slipped out of the master bedroom. He met his Unit Chief's eyes for a brief second before fixing his gaze on the hardwood floor instead.

"What, Hotch? Oh, yeah, I was just unpacking my… box."

Reid could _feel_ Hotch's eyes narrowing. He spoke calmly, if a bit slower than usual.

"Jack needs to be picked up from school. I thought the three of us could go out for dinner… its been a long day."

"Alright, Hotch… sounds like a plan."

God, this was so _silly_, thought Reid. _Everyone masturbates. I masturbate._

Once more, unbidden images filled in the young man's expansive mind- him and Hotch on the latter's bed, stroking each other's erections, groaning… reaching their climaxes together, cumming all over the burgundy sheets-

"Are you sure you're alright, Reid?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine… let's go get Jack."


	12. Chapter 12

Reid needed time to think- time to process everything that this long, long day had brought… particularly the contents of a certain night table drawer. What Reid did NOT need was a perpetually cheerful seven year old kicking him under the table with a pair of sneakered feet that didn't reach the restaurant floor.

It was just as well. Every time Reid looked up at Hotch from his fettuccine alfredo, obscene images would flood his "brilliant" mind, and heat would flood his cheeks. He was capable of processing information five times faster than the average human- until his eyes would drift of their own accord. The young man's razor-sharp wit would be blunted, his lightning-quick stream of conscious thought reduced to an unending litany on one word:

_Lube. Lube. Lube. Lube…_

Hotch was tactful enough (or merely qualified for his job) to pick up on Reid's discomfort and did not force any small talk. Small comfort.

Young Jack remained oblivious to the tension between his adult dining partners as he prattled on about his day at school. Reid was grateful for the little boy's presence, having always found his antics to be refreshing and endearing. Over the years, Jack had proved to be an exception to the infamous "Reid Effect." The two had gotten along smashingly at various family-friendly team functions. Even as a toddler, Jack had squealed happily at Reid's magic tricks- the same tricks that had been somewhat less successful in charming baby Henry on Reid's last visit to the Jareau residence. And while the young man fretted about his godson's distaste for him, he treasured the comradery he'd developed with Jack.

"Ms. Cap-o-telli taught us about planets this week. Today was Pluto Day."

Reid's subconscious fact-checker sent an irritated tremor through his body. _Leave it alone, leave it alone, leave-_

"Actually, in 2006, astronomers demoted Pluto in a wholesale redefinition of planethood. Its now categorized as a trans-Neptunian object-"

"Buddy, Doctor Reid is trying to explain that Pluto is a Dwarf Planet."

Reid blushed and shoveled more pasta into his mouth. Jack regarded his father thoughtfully.

"Dwarf… like in Snow White?"

"Kind of. You know how the seven dwarves were all a little shorter than the princess?"

Jack nodded animatedly.

"Well, dwarf planets are all smaller than regular planets. That's what Doctor Reid was saying."

The little boy tilted his head, considering the parallel that his father had just drawn for him. The analogy must have passed inspection, because he then announced:

"Docto' Reid is smart… You too, Daddy."

He gave Reid a toothy grin, which the latter returned shyly. Jack reached into his water glass and pulled out two ice cubes, dropping them into Reid and Hotch's cups, respectively. The Unit Chief's answering chuckle startled the Reid into making long-avoided eye contact with his boss.

Another fuse seemed to blow somewhere amidst the young man's thought processes, because all that seemed to register in that moment were those little crinkles that had formed around Hotch's eyes as he laughed at his son's minor faux-pas. Reid couldn't deny that he liked those crinkles. His boss's face was too often creased with anxiety and grimness- but _these_ tiny lines seemed to lighten the man's spirit as the others had seemed to age him. In mere minutes spent with his son, Hotch's expression had transformed into one of tenderness and joy. How lucky Hotch was to have someone so precious in his life! Reid had thought he'd found something similar with Anderson- someone to come home to, someone to make the pain go away… some solace from life.

"…Reid?"

Concern was laced into his whispered name as Hotch leaned across the booth at the sight of his subordinate's forming tears. Thankfully, astronomy-talk seemed to have re-whetted Jack's appetite and one-track attention for his penne, and he had dropped out of the exchange as it turned awkward once again.

"What- oh, yeah, the fettuccine's great, _al dente_ and everything," Reid babbled, swiping distractedly at his eyes.

"Yeah… I'll just call for the bill, alright?"

Despite himself, Reid felt soothed by the gentleness in his boss' tone.

"Okay."

* * *

><p>Hotch lay awake on the fold-out couch long after the apartment had gone dark and quiet. Somehow, the Unit Chief knew that the metal springs digging into his back under a thin, flimsy cot-mattress were not solely to blame for his insomnia. He'd been reliving the evening, sifting through fresh memories of Reid's every word and gesture. <em>Something<em> had been… off. Or, a different "off" than the young man had been all week- and that was saying something. Reid seemed to have dropped the defensive angstiness that he'd been prone to as of late.

Hotch had accepted whatever resistance that had come his way since mandating the current roommate situation. He'd known from the get-go that Reid would not take kindly to being patronized and essentially blackmailed into living with his boss- the very same boss who'd made advances on him three times in the last week. Hotch knew where he stood: the middle-aged creep who had taken advantage of his young subordinate's emotional fragility and position in the BAU hierarchy.

Tonight had been a different story. Vicious glares and pathetic pouts had become nervous glances and stutters. What had changed? Hotch was not used to bafflement, and he didn't like the feeling now.

Hotch's contemplative state was interrupted by a snuffly snore coming from Jack's bedroom. The Unit Chief smiled. His bedroom displacement afforded him a closer proximity to his son, and Hotch had since become more informed of the little boy's nighttime habits. For instance, Jack apparently treats himself to a cheese stick from the fridge before brushing his teeth. While unfolding the sofa, Hotch had witnessed the amusing spectacle of Jack, cheese stick in hand, asking Reid if they could brush their teeth together. Reid had been very accommodating in sharing his bathroom ritual with the little boy- until it came time for his shower.

Reid had shown Jack the different settings of his own nightlight, effectively distracting him with a lightshow as he'd showered. Reid had emerged from the bathroom dripping wet, but fully dressed in matching nightshirt and pants. He'd politely taken back his nightlight and left Hotch to tuck Jack in, giving both father and son an awkward wave goodnight.

With a creak of the couch springs, Hotch shifted his gaze to the shadowed door to his own room. Memories of tonight shifted to unbidden images of the young man behind that door, in Hotch's bed. His curly hair would be drying on the pillow, his sweet scent seeping into the sheets… Hotch's calloused hand snaked it's way into striped boxer shorts and grasped his hardening length.

The fantasy was _real_- or as real as it had ever been. There lay Spencer Red, less than twenty paces away, in Hotch's own bed. But first, he needed…

And then Hotch's stomach- and penis- dropped. The lubricant! It was there, all of it, in the bedside table, available for perusal. If Reid were to get curious or bored, or simply want to put his Marvel comics somewhere, he would find about a years' supply of lubricant in the drawer. Hotch needed to get it out of there, quick.

Feeling more like a boy of Jack's age running from trouble, Hotch tiptoed across the hardwood floor to the darkened door of the master bedroom. With a gentle twist and push of the doorknob, Hotch was in. Like a monster of the night, the Unit Chief creeped towards the nightstand, casting a sidelong glance at the sleeping young man as he did so. Reid's face was dimly lit by a sliver of moonlight that had streamed through an opening in the curtain. Long lashes rested upon high cheekbones, pink lips parted to allow gentle sighs of breath to pass. As Hotch had imagined, damp chestnut curls were splayed out across the pollow… Wet. Lubricant. Right, his mission.

The drawer slid open silently, and Hotch began to fill his arms with the little bottles. As the last little container was collected, he exhaled slowly in relief. And then the silence was split with a quavery moan:

"Please… Oh…"

Dozens of individual smacks rent the air as every last bottle of lubricant clattered to the floor.


End file.
